Come to say Hello?
by Saltwater
Summary: We’re all stuffed anyway. We were borne to die. Every moment of our lives brings us one step closer to our deaths. Doesn’t matter if you feed your dog, or if you beat it. It doesn’t matter if you try or not. They’ll still send you to hell.


Okay, not sure how this will come out, but I thought I'd try it out anyway. I'm in one of those moods I get where I wish I am an all powerful God, so that I can reek my vengeance on all those petty mortals who defy me.

In other words, I'm a little pissed off.

/whips out black nail polish, straightens stupid curly hair, and puts on lots of thick black eyeliner/ …/which makes my eyes look black/ … /which is _really_ cool/

Hah! Now I can be all morbid and glare at people all day long.

Yeah anyway, this is another one of those "Harry goes to Azkaban" stories. I've read quite a few with them, but this one is greatly inspired by 'From the Abyss' by 'Ruskbyte'. I highly suggest you read that once you're done here.

* * *

Dark.  
It's very dark here. All the time. No windows.  
That would be too kind.  
To see the sun. 

Pft. That's what they say. Do they think I want to see it anymore? After all this time?  
It would burn. My eyes. My skin. My senses.  
There's no use for it here anyways. What good would it do me to know weather it was day or night? Night or day?

I miss the stars.  
And the moon.

And I miss popcorn.  
The salty, buttery, crunchy taste of popcorn. What I wouldn't give for some popcorn right now.

I remember the first time I'd ever had popcorn. Dudley had come back from the cinema's with this mega-super-sized bucket of popcorn. It smelled so good, but I knew it was pointless to ask. I knew he wouldn't give me any no matter what.  
So when he left it on the table, I took it.  
I could hear him complaining for hours, while I was under the stairs, cramped away, chewing on one piece at a time.

Don't know why they didn't blame it on me.  
One of the rare times it was my fault, and I didn't get blamed.

It almost made up for all the other times it wasn't my fault.

Almost.

And some underwear.  
I wouldn't mind a pair of those, either. I miss the comfortable feeling of briefs around my arse.  
It gets rather boring wearing the same thing for months. Years? Maybe twenty. Maybe fourteen. Maybe three. Feels like twenty.  
Feels like three.

Feels like…

…like

Like cold, hard stone against bruised and battered skin. Like a throat hoarse from screaming, with no water to sooth. Like a body, thin and starving, lying curled on the floor in an attempt to keep warm. Like being raped. Over and over again.

No. No- not raped.  
Or maybe.

Well, not physically anyway.  
My mind has been raped repeatedly for twenty (three? fourteen?) years, by those God-awful creatures.

God.

Isn't it amazing how a word so short could cause so much conflict in the world? Say it with me.  
God.

Do you believe in God?

I do.

Someone had to start it all. You can't tell me that everything in this world is just a big, cosmic fuck-up.  
Fudge is.  
Dumbledore is.  
Ha! Ron probably is too.

But dementors? You can't tell me they were an accident.  
They were created, specifically, with a definite purpose. _They _did not evolve from apes.

…I don't mind them so much anymore. They're just doing what they know. What they've always known.  
Imagine if you were a dementor, suddenly stripped of your powers. Wouldn't know what to do, would you? And don't give me any of that shit about world peace. You don't really want that.

Your just saying that to make yourself look better.

If the world was harmonious, and everyone was happy, what would you compare your crappy life with? The starving children in Africa?

Wouldn't be starving, would they.

How about the newly wedds who just moved in next door? Who fuck all night and constantly tell you how much they're in love?

You life with your three cats, two dogs, and dead hamster doesn't seem so peachy anymore, does it?

We're all fucked anyway.  
We were borne to die.  
Every moment of our lives brings us one step closer to our deaths. Doesn't matter if you feed your dog, or if you beat it. It doesn't matter if you try or not. Hec, it doesn't even matter if you destroy the world, or save it.

They'll still send you to hell.  
A hell made of five rocks and a metal.

Hmm…  
Lets try that one again.  
A hell of five stone walls (including floor and ceiling, you should never forget the floor and ceiling), and one made of metal. Or, rather, iron. I think.

It might not be.

But either way, it's made of bars.  
So, when your in the right state of mind, you can see others whimpering in their own delusions.

But we're stronger than that.

No. Not all the other pathetic morons pissing their pants and moaning for mommy.

There's a girl. Or rather, a woman. She's older than me, I'm sure. She's been here longer than me too. Dull, matted black hair. Dull, matted black eyes.

If you can call eyes matted.

In anyways, they look matted to me. You probably shouldn't take my word for it though. I'm pretty sure I'm insane.

I heard somewhere once, that insane people don't think they're insane, because, after all, you must be in the right state of mind to be able to think logically enough to ask yourself weather you are thinking logically.

Whoever said that the criminally insane don't think logically mustn't have known what it felt like to be criminally insane.

But alas, I digress!

Hah!

Alas.

Bumblefuck used to say that quite a bit. In fact, I'll bet you anything he's still saying that now. Running around in his moronic robes, alasing his balls off and getting his beard caught on objects as he passes.

How any self respecting wizard could trust that senile old retard is beyond me.

At least Tom has something going for him. Though why he insists on the body he has is absolutely beyond me.

Fucking _hideous!_

But at least he can scare people without even the tiniest effort on his behalf. People just take one good look at that deformed excuse for a head, and go running for the hills.

…

What was I talking about before? Ah yes! Bells!

What a trixy thing!

Haha! Get it? Bells is trixy? Bells. Trixy.

Hmm…

You don't get it.

Perhaps I should explain myself…

…and perhaps you should attach yourself naked and covered in pigs blood to Fluffy's chewing bone.

Winter.  
Yes.

She truly is trixy.

One minute she hates you, and you hate her too. And the next minute you connect with her. Across from your cell, you see her for the first time. Clinging to the bars and staring at you with those dull, black eyes. She calls you Summer (you're the only one in the prison with a tan, of course), and you stare at her pale form, and call her Winter.

And you connect.

And she makes you connect.  
With yourself. With your mind. With your soul. With her.  
For the first time.  
Ever.

And then you lose those connections.  
All of them.

Only, you don't lose her. Or her connection.

And so, though Winter is harsh, and bitter, you start to grow attached to those dull, matted eyes.

…speaking of bitter old men, I can smell him coming now.  
He has such a bitter tang to his scent, Grim.

For that's what he is. Grim.  
And not just because that's who I thought he was in my third year, either.

He is Grim. A Grim man, aged beyond his years tenfold by 12 years in this hell.

If only I had gotten out after twelve years.  
I just hope that I don't end up staying as long as he did.

At least, I assume that's what I hope. Though I don't recall hoping at all. Not for twenty.  
Not for three.

Two.

One.

There. They turned the corner.

They're here now.

Lupin. What a fitting name.  
The Lupine disease. The disease of the werewolf.  
It's as if the Gods knew of his fate for centuries, and had planned out his name, just as a bit of fun.

Though, technically, they _would_ have known of his fate for centuries.

But I knew he would be here too. Grim and Lupin can hardly bee seen without each other.  
The Grim Lupin. The Lupine Grim. The Lrim. The Grupine.

I like that.  
Grupine.

It sounds… gruesome.

The gruesome twosome.  
I remember them. They used to be my friends. I used to call them family.

Ha! Fat load of help that did.

But really, I don't blame them. They trusted Dumbledore.  
…I don't really blame him either. Even if he didn't really care. He just went off the information he had. Even though it was so blatantly obvious what the truth was, and only a disintegrating old man couldn't see.

Well, that's what happens when you leave your trial at home.

I'm pretty sure I still hate him.  
I think.

But I wonder why they brought him. They never brought him.  
Then again, they never came either, so that's hardly saying anything.

Even though it is.  
Saying something, that is.

I catch Winter's eyes as she sits on her pile of rags. She's hunched up from the cold.  
We all are.  
I'm sure it'd make for some serious back problems later on in life, if we were going to be doing anything but sitting.  
And screaming.  
And crying.

And singing.

I've sung with Bells before. She has a voice like the bells.  
At least, she sounds like she used to.  
In any case, it's the most beautiful thing I've heard in my entire stay here.

And that _is_ saying something.  
In all senses of the phrase.

The Grupines and Fuckadore stop in front of my cell, breaking my eye contact with Winter.  
Which was sad, because I saw a spark of something in her eyes.

Not sure what it was, though.  
Not sure why.  
Not sure what they're doing here.  
Not sure why… why…

Why are they looking at me like that…?

Is… is it normal? I don't really remember. Maybe people are supposed to look at each other with pity, and shame, and disgust.

I hear a quiet laugh from behind them.

A beautiful sound of Bells', though we have to make sure not to let it get too trixy…

Grim is staring down at me with pity. Pity, pity, pity.  
I hate pity.  
To pity someone is to feel above them. To feel inferior to them. For only if you're better off than someone, can you feel sorry for them. I hate it when people place themselves above me. Especially when they're not.  
Above me.  
Below me.  
On the same level as me.

Bells is. Winter is. Summer and Autumn and Spring is. was. were.

Whatever.  
I stopped being literate years ago. Decades ago. Millennia ago.  
And quite frankly, who cares?  
Other than me, of course.

I wonder if Grim recognizes me. He seems to. But there's something in that gaze.  
Recognition. Understanding.  
Perhaps he recognizes himself in me.  
Perhaps he cares.  
More likely the former than the latter. Though he used to. Care.

Aw look, Lupine is putting his hand on Grim's shoulder.  
Comforting gesture? Or something else?  
I know I can smell the sex there. But this is hardly the time, nor the scenery. I mean, what a mood breaker! The smell of feces surrounding you, as you listen to never ending moans of pain, screams of torment, and crying.

Always crying.

I couldn't fuck someone here if my… well, that's a lie.  
I'm used to it.  
So I probably could.

It's just that, being starved and tormented for a good potion of your life hardly makes you horny.

But look, Lupy looks absolutely shamed!  
Why thanks, I didn't know you cared. Again.  
Or maybe you're just ashamed that I would allow myself to wear these horrendous robes. It's true! You're right! I should take them off.  
Right now.

Or maybe I should just sit here. Like this.  
It kinda hurts to move, you know.

But oh… look at this. I can practically feel the disgust rolling off this guy.  
Well shucks mate, right back at ya.

So Fucklebum, what brings you to this side of town?

Oh, you know, I was just in the neighborhood.

Really? Well that's lovely, why don't you come in for a cuppa? I'd offer you a seat, but as you can see, I'm fresh out of those.

Why are they just standing there? Are they waiting for something?  
Should I look up at them?

I've been staring at the ground this whole time. Don't ask me how I know what they're feeling, how I know how they're looking at me. I just put it down to my sudden connection with my sixth sense.

You can ask me how I know who it is, though.

Go ahead, ask me. I can answer that.

No seriously, ask me.

I can smell them.  
I think I've already told you. But I don't think you believed me. Well, believe it buster! I can smell them. Maybe I've turned into an animal.  
Maybe I've always been an animal.

Either way, their smell is there, and I can smell it.  
As opposed to seeing it.  
'Cause you can't really see smell. Unless you're looking for it.  
But I'm not. Looking for it.

"H-Harry?"  
Hmm. Wolfy's voice sounds different. Raspier. Softer. As if it hurts more to talk than it used to.  
It probably does. I imagine transforming from a human into a wolf and back again once a month must be pretty painful. I feel sorry for him. I know what it feels like to scream for hours.  
Hurts.

I should look up at them. But my chin is so comfortable here on my knees.

Really, Harry. You're being quite impolite, sitting there in your grubby clothes, smelling like you haven't bathed for years. The least you could do is _look_ at the nice people who have come to say hello.

You're right. I should look at them.

But I'd rather just sit here.

The doors are clanging open. Well, I can hardly move now, can I?  
They have wards up. You can't move while the doors are open.  
Or maybe that's just me. Petending that I cant.  
So that I don't have to.

Either way, I have to wait till they shut them before I look up.  
How convenient.

Well, they're shut now.

I wonder why the dementors aren't gathering here.  
They love fresh meat. There're usually heaps of them trailing after visitors, sucking on their memories.

I wish they were here now. These people don't deserve to be happy.  
Though they don't really smell happy.  
Which is fine with me.

Tey're moving towards me now.  
I wish they wouldn't.

"Harry? Are… are you okay?"  
Stupid question, really.  
Oh I'm fine, Moony! Don't worry about my starving and abused self! You just be on your merry way!

Wow…  
He just put his hand on my arm. My first human contact since… since the beginning.  
I wish I had the energy to flinch away.

Instead, I lift my eyes up and stare at him.  
He's a lot older than I remember. More wrinkles, more white hair.  
And yet he still looks attractive, in some strange way.

He's always been like that. I sometimes wonder how he would have looked if he wasn't a werewolf.  
Quite hansom, I'd imagine.

They're talking, but I'm not listening.  
I'm looking around again. There are carvings all across the walls. And floor and ceiling. Never forget the floor and ceiling.

I put them there, you know.  
But I didn't do it physically. Yeah right! What would I use. My nails?

But still, I put them there.  
And they're beautiful.

As beautiful as Winter. And just as unavoidable.  
And just as hard to get rid of.

I'm feeling dizzy now.  
Should I lean my head against the wall?  
I don't know, they might find it offensive. I can't remember what manners are anymore. So maybe I'll just ignore them altogether.

So I lean my head against the wall.  
Better.

I think they're talking to me now, but I don't care.  
I really, really don't care.

I'm staring at the ceiling.  
And as I look, something begins forming. On the wall.  
In the wall.  
In the ceiling. Never forget the ceiling. Or one day, it might just forget you.

Overwhelmed with a deep repulsion  
For sights seen so commonly.  
Now I have come to be  
The walking enmity.

Beautiful.  
That's not going to leave the ceiling. Ever.  
_They_ don't notice it forming. They don't even notice it there. Even though they're the ones that made me. They made me put it there.

They made me here.  
They made me who I am. Who I will always be.  
From now on.

"We have to go now." Dumbledore is saying. Well fine. Leave then. Hope you had a nice stay.  
Not.

…Well? Aren't you going?  
What's the point of telling me you're leaving if you're just going to stand there and look at me?  
Freaks.

I look back at them again.  
Hmm. They're looking at me. Expectantly.  
They want me to come with them. I can tell.

But wh-oh.

_ooh!_

Haha! This is just hilarious!

They know now. They _know!  
_Well, I'm pretty sure Bumbleshit always had an inkling, but he's just a bastard.  
And I was just his bastard pawn.

But now, they know.

Without a shadow of a doubt.

Ha!

I burst out in hysterical laughter. I can hear my voice echo down the long hall of cells, as everyone inside slowly stops screaming shouting crying pissing. And still I laugh.

This. Is. _Hilarious!  
_The fucking morons! I hope they feel eternally guilty, the stupid fuckers! Hahaha!

And now they're looking at me as though I'm insane.  
Well, what did they expect after leaving me here all this time?

Motherfuckers. Ha!

The Grupines are coming towards me now, identical expressions of worry etched on their faces.  
So they want to help me up, do they?  
Well, I aint gonna make it any easier for them.

I flop uselessly in their arms as they lift me, still suppressing that damned urge to flinch.  
They're practically dragging me across the room of three walls, a ceiling, and a floor.

Well now, we don't want to seem pathetic or anything, do we?

So I use my feet. And I walk.

It's not as if I haven't done it before. And I succeed quite well with the dogs on either side of me.

Aah, mans best friend. The dog. Forever useful. Forever there.  
We don't want to forget about the dogs. Unless you want them to forget about you.

Dogs and ceilings are quite similar in that way, you know.

I'm out of the cell now. Dragged out by the same people that dragged me in.  
Heh, and it seems that Dumblefucker still doesn't want to touch me.

Good.

I don't like touching things over a hundred years old.

Unless they're not Dumbledore.

I'm still smiling weirdly though.  
I know I'm smiling, because I fan feel it.  
And I know its weird, because of the look on my guide dogs faces.

I hear a hysterical laugh again.  
Only, it's not me.  
I don't think.

"Cousin, dearest! Is that you?"  
Poochie stops and turns to face the voice. Aah, Winter. She really is a trixy wonder.

"Bella." He nods his head at her. "I assume your enjoying the accommodation here?"

She laughs again, wiping away the blood that trickled from her mouth. "Oh, its absobubbly splendid! And I_ assume_, that your little stay behind the curtain was just as enjoyable?"

And doesn't she look beautiful? Standing there in her disheveled grey robe, matted hair down to her waist, tear tracks marring her dirty face, trembling hands clutching the bars, forehead resting against her hands,

And that lovely trickle of blood making a new path down her chin.

Then her matted black eyes, which look somewhat clearer than they used to, turns and looks straight at you.

Or, rather, me.

She smiled gently. "Did they finally figure out the truth, little baby Potter?"

I smiled back at her, but was interrupted from my response by Grims low growl as he pulled me away.  
I resisted though.  
Twisting away with an energy I wasn't sure I still had, I stumbled to Bells' cage and clung onto the bars for support.

The slightly deluded smile never left her face, and she looked at me with a kinship not many could say they knew. My smile broadened slightly, and I lifted my hand, palm facing her, and held it in front of a gap in the bars.

Slowly, she lifted her own hand up and placed it against mine.

To say the old men standing behind me were stunned would be an understatement.

"I'll miss your screams." She murmured softly.

I felt soft footsteps behind me, and heard a hand place itself on my arm. "Come on Harry, we have to go."  
There was another laugh. "See you around, Summer!" Winter called from behind me, as I was led away.

"Do you know who that was, Harry?" Sirius asked me, a slightly angry hint to his voice.  
At least, that's who I think he was asking.

What kind of a name is Sirius anyways? It's just serious, without the 'o'.  
Maybe he wasn't crying when he was born, so his parents though he was a serious child, and named him thusly.

Hah!  
His parents were stupid.

And his mom was a crazy bitch, if that painting is anything to go by.

"…Are you listening to me Harry? Bellatrix Lestrange! The woman who helped torture Neville's parents into madness!"

Bells is trixy.

…do you get it now?

"Sirius, I don't think he can understand us." Lupine mutters sadly.

I can understand you!  
Morons.  
I understand you better than you understand yourselves. I understand that you, Grim-boy, will never get over your stay in Azkaban no matter how hard you pretend. I understand that it hurts, because even though you don't want anyone to know, deep down inside, you still want someone to notice there's something wrong with you, just to prove to yourself that they still care.

And Moony, I know that your wolf side is stronger in you than you would have others know. I understand that you can feel it stirring inside you, just waiting to let itself free, to destroy. I see the bloodlust in your eyes when you look at Sirius. Some part of you wants to rip him apart, even if the rest of you says you love him. That he's your only friend. And it tears you up inside, because even though you know these thoughts are wrong, you still think them.

And Albus. I understand you more than you would want anyone to. I've seen your true self. You don't really give a damn weather Voldemort destroys this world or not. And you wouldn't be doing anything about it if you weren't so bored with your life as it were. In fact, you're just pissed at Tom for thinking of it first. And if it weren't for the fact that you know that more people would fight for you willingly if you were nice, if you kind, an old, caring, loving grandfather figure, you would outright kill people left right and centre to get what you want.

So don't you tell me I don't understand.

…maybe that would have convinced them more if I had said it out loud?

Once we finish getting on the boat, I will. I don't want to accidentally offend them and make them chuck me back into the prison I just escaped.

Sigh. I thought we were ignoring manners. Didn't you want them to ignore you?

We're on the boat now.

The water… its so…

"Black."

Oh dandy. Now the old, grey hag is looking at you strangely.

"Black Winter."

Hmm… Black Winter. I like it.

"What are you talking about, Harry?"

Oh that's right. They don't know Winter. "Bella. Bellatrix Black."

"No… Bellatrix Lestrange. She's married, Harry."

I glare at Grim. I don't like it when people talk to me like a two year old that doesn't understand.

I shook my head. "Dead."

"Harry my boy…" Dumbledore put his hand on my arm.

And with this much needed fresh air in my lungs, I had the energy to flinch away. To hiss even. And the glare I gave him must have been something, because he moved his hand, and didn't finish what he was going to say.

Winter is not married any longer. Don't they understand?  
"Never visited." I mumbled.

"What? Harry, we… we thought you were guilty, an-"

Now I'm glaring at the Lupine. "Not you. Him."

…stop staring at me you idiots! Don't you get it? Don't you understand anything? She and I are in the same position! She feels the same thing about her husband, as I feel about the rest of the world.

Minus Snape.

But he stopped too, eventually.

So I guess…

Well, I guess its time for me to string together my fist sentence to these people.

"Her husband is dead to her. Never visited. Ever. Didn't even try to get her out. Through the Snake. The Snake could have done it. But the Snake didn't care either. And so, he's dead. At least… he will be.

Eventually."

…they're still staring.

And to tell you the truth, I don't care.

I really, really don't care.

* * *

The little poem thing Harry carved into the ceiling was part of a song by AIF.

Or something…

Well, that's the story!Not sure ifI got the whole insanity thing down.

Ah well.I dont know if I'm going to continue it. It kinda works to end it there, doncha think?


End file.
